


More Than Expected

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [27]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Breaking Up & Making Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther Pendragon wanted his daughter as the perfect image of a lady. Lynn just wanted her happy. That’s all she ever did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Expected

**Author's Note:**

> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
> Inspired by [this image](http://images.quickblogcast.com/3/4/8/0/3/240618-230843/Albatross.jpg?a=75) (NSFW) of Jessica Brown Findlay who is definitely Colin Morgan's twin sister.
> 
>  
> 
> Day #27: "rough, biting, scratching"

*

 

Marty has never seen a more tantalizing set of breasts in her entire life.

They hung like round, luscious pome, areolas a bronzey pink to her creamy skin, nipples dainty. She would spend nights burying her face into them, relishing the hot, malleable weight. Murmuring out cherishing words. Breathing deeply in Lynn's ocean spray perfume and the smoky hint of cigarettes in frizzy, black curls.

She swore she would never love her breasts, love _her_ like anyone else—because no one else compared to her girlfriend.

 _Ex_ -girlfriend, Marty supposes.

Lynn's being a vindictive trollop, flashing her teats while Marty is at work, but then again she can't absolutely loathe her for it. She cocked it up. Marty cocked it all up between them.

But she's not giving Lynn the satisfaction. Not while on an eight-hour shift at the mart, waiting on impatient arse after arse. Marty lets her countenance go blank, gaze dropping to Lynn's rolled up tee-shirt before meeting kohl-lined, bright blue eyes sending out the message of _See these? Not yours anymore, darling. Enjoy them while they're still here_.

A man and a woman push around the small line to check-out, earning themselves shouts of indignation and glares.

"Christ," Tristan mutters, rolling his eyes. He places down the items in his hands and grabs Lynn's arm.

Isolde yanks down the cropped, grey shirt at the exact same moment, shooting Marty an inquisitive glance. "Meredith, let's go," she orders, pulling the dark-haired woman away from the register. "We're going to be late." _Meredith_. So, what, Lynn was going by her first name (that Lynn told her she found atrocious) with her _new_ mates, was she?

"I've been told it's a bit cold outside." Marty informs her blandly, handing her ex-girlfriend a bag of groceries, "Perhaps you should stay covered up."

Lynn's eyebrows bunch together, her heart-shaped lips puckering in a scowl. She's bordering on pissed—apples of her cheeks flushed, eyes hazy. Marty's has seen it enough times.

"You're not helping," Isolde snaps, her fishtail braid hitting her shoulder as she whirls around.

Something in Marty's gut strains and heats with anger.

"Why are you letting her out like this?" she yells, leaning over the counter.

"It's not your fucking business what she does anymore," Tristan says, eerily calm. He flips her off, and Marty returns the favor, not caring her manager stares disapproving.

Fuck-all, she needs a drink.

 

*

 

It's Saturday and Marty is unspeakably horny.

Cedric grins when she invites him over, that little straggle-tooth baring. His hand slides between Marty's thighs, rubbing furiously against her thin underwear. Applying consistent pressure against her clit and getting her wet. He liked it good and quick, and so did she. It was probably the reason why they worked as decent fuckmates.

Marty thrusts down against his hand, rucking up her pencil skirt, and feeling a bare finger poke around the material and slip inside. She clenches instinctively, moaning. "You want it like this?" Cedric's middle finger joins, two thick fingers now curling and pumping fast, as she rocks her hips against him. "You're so fucking tight, baby. I want you to come on me."

"Shut the fuck _up_ , Cedric," Marty breathes out, gripping onto his vest, nails digging in.

It's too dry and he's a fucking chauvinistic pig, but this is as close as a form of escapism as Marty can get. He preferred taking her anally while fingering sloppy inside her. Cedric talked once about wanting to fist her vagina while pounding into her ass, but it wasn't happening. This wasn't going to be a permanent deal.

Cedric's lips suck lightly against her throat, his beard uncomfortably scratchy and he groans when Marty rocks again, slickened and dripping around his hand.

But she's not feeling it, she—

"Oi, stop. Just," Marty whispers, pushing him away, pushes his hand. "Stop. Get out."

He stares bug-eyed as she corrects the length of her skirt, smoothing her tanned hands over it and avoiding his eyes.

"What the hell's your problem?" Cedric accuses. He stops, suddenly appearing wounded. "Did… I do something wrong?"

"It's over. This _arrangement_ is over, Cedric."

Marty curls her lip at him, feeling more than satisfied by the look of contempt—because he's a _fucking_ chauvinistic pig—hearing her door slam shut loudly in the next room.

She washes all of Cedric off her, from her and between her legs. The warm foggy steam feels good in her sinuses. Marty ties up her blond hair, hardly believing she's let it grow to her waist. As a child, she threw screeching fits about long hair, compelling her worn-out nanny to trim and style Marty's hair into a simpler boy's cut. Uther fired her the following day.

Uther Pendragon wanted his daughter as the perfect image of a _lady_.

Not dressed in footie uniforms, not playing beer pong at uni parties, not cursing in public, not fucking other women in her bed and considering tying the knot with one special.

Lynn… she never wanted anything from Marty that she couldn't be. She didn't think Marty needed to be indoors for fourteen hours of the day, learning needlepoint or playing the harp, or walking precariously the corridors in heels. She would smile toothy like Marty was her whole sun (which the irony in that and her namesake was astronomically hysterical).

They were ridiculously happy to the point where even Marty's mates gagged.

And then, Lynn caught her with Valiant in a bathroom stall. Valiant, the homophobic bugger. Marty knew it had been _stupid_. So, so stupid. Even while drunk.

They fought. They fought for days and days, until Lynn packed up her things, choking down angry sobs on her way out.

That memory haunted her.

Marty blinks down at her mobile face, glimpsing the familiar phone number. She doesn't know when her thumb had pressed **SEND**.

A tinny of a female voice calls out, repeatedly.

"…hello? Are you going to _say_ anything or am supposed to assume you're being stabbed to death?"

"M'sorry." Marty's voice breaks, wrecked with heartache. "I'm so fucking sorry, love."

There's gaping silence.

She doesn't know she's crying, tears slipping freely until Marty hears the dial tone.

 

*

 

Lynn's teeth had loved nibbling and sinking to Marty's flesh. She remember waking up in the morning with fresh, bruising marks to her shoulders, the insides of her wrists or on the curve of her breasts. She had bit down almost painfully, sending jolts of pleasure through the other woman, squirming and whining piercingly into Marty's kisses and hands.

It's much more painful to think about.

The black void of sky lights up candy-floss pink, booming deafeningly with the seaside carnival's fireworks. The hue vividly glosses into Lynn's curls.

A soft, slim hand falls to Marty's cheek, not coming to land a blow.

"I love you," Lynn tells her, solemnly. Hot pink sparks swimming in her eyes. "But I haven't forgive you, 'Arty. Not yet."

That's fine. That's… more than expected.

Marty holds her hand to her, afraid of losing that physical anchor, succumbing to that ugly tug of fear.

"Whatever you need. Anything," she blurts out, relief flooding through her when Lynn's mouth relaxes. "I love you, too."

" _Prat_."

 

*


End file.
